


The Legend of the Lost Dreamer

by lindenmae



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenmae/pseuds/lindenmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the sheltered son of the Governor-General of India, Eames had often day-dreamed about the adventures of Captain Cobb and his ship - The Lost Dreamer, and having his own adventures on the high seas.  He had thought a few peaceful weeks travel from India to England would be all the taste of the sea he would get, until his ship was captured by pirates and he was taken prisoner by the notorious Captain Brown Eyes, the most feared and unforgiving pirate on the seven seas.  Eames quickly learns that Captain Brown Eyes is not what he seems, that most legends are based in truth, and that sometimes it only takes a leap of faith to get what you've always desired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captured

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be pretty cracky, guys. Fair warning. An expansion on my ficlet for the [Trope fest on Dreamwidth](http://arthur-eames.dreamwidth.org/13409.html?view=61025&posted=1). All of my submissions for that fest can be found [here](http://lindenmae.livejournal.com/30876.html). 
> 
> There will be some nonchalant language of triggery issues such as rape and murder. I don't mean to dismiss these triggers in any way and I don't mean to insinuate that such things are going to occur in my fic. It's just appropriate to the subject matter is all. There is some misogyny but again, probably much less than is appropriate to the time period. And finally mentions of corporal punishment. Again, this is appropriate to the time period. I will not dwell on any of these potential triggers for any extended part of this fic, but better safe than sorry right? Some violence and some boys with their heads up their asses and eventually lots of sexytimes.

Eames stared out the window at the crashing waves, lulled near into sleep by the monotonous drone of his tutor’s voice. He imagined he could see the flagging sails of the Lost Dreamer sailing aimlessly with the direction of the wind. He was startled into focus by the sharp thwack of the tutor’s pointer against the table in front of him. He attempted to look properly chagrined beneath his tutor’s scowl but it was a hard thing.

“What has you so distracted, Master Benedict?”

Eames mistook the question for actual interest and voiced the truth. He wanted to know the full legend and if the Lost Dreamer really existed like the sailors swore it did. 

“I was only wondering about the story of Captain Cobb, sir.”

The tutor’s nostrils flared and his rod came down again, this time landing hard against Eames’s arm. 

“Do not waste my time with stories, Benedict.”

“I only wished to know if it is true,” Eames pouted, cradling his arm to his chest. The tutor’s lip curled back in disgust and Eames flinched when he tightened his grip on the pointer.

“Of course it is not true,” the tutor sneered. “How am I to mould anything out of an empty mind such as yours? Your father tasks me with the impossible. You are too foolish to be taught, Master Benedict. Go on. Out of my sight. No more for today.” The tutor raised the rod as if to strike again and Eames scrambled from his seat before he could be awarded another bruise. 

He ran for the door just as a brown head ducked out of sight. The chambermaid’s son smiled toothily up at him from his crouch in a shadowy corner. Eames glared at him and stomped away, embarrassed and angry. 

“The Lost Dreamer _is_ real,” the boy said, following behind him. “It’s not just a story.”

“Be quiet and leave me alone,” Eames snapped, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of his eyes. It would not do for him to be caught crying after the insults from his tutor.  
“What do you know of anything?”

The boy’s grin faltered and Eames felt a pang of regret for his tone, because there was a time when he had thought he might find a playmate in the chambermaid’s son before he was disavowed of that notion by his father’s heavy hand. He stalked away before he apologized for hurting the feelings of a servant and proved the tutor correct in calling him foolish. Once he reached his rooms, he stormed to his desk, furious now at himself more than anything. There were drawings there that he had done of the water and the docks, true to life, and there were drawings of things he had never seen before, things that existed only in his imagination. He had drawn the Lost Dreamer with Captain Cobb at its bow, pitching in the waves, but there were also quick sketches of Odysseus bewitched by the sorceress Circe, of the sirens and the Cyclops, of the Cracken and the various other types of sea monsters that the sailors swore prowled beneath the waves – dragons and fish the size of ships. 

He looked at his drawings longingly but the tutor was right, he was too fanciful and wasting his time dreaming of worlds he would never see. He wasn’t a sailor, wasn’t meant for adventure. He was the son of the Governor-General of India and in a few years he would return to England to receive a formal education and then he would accept a political position like his father, perhaps take over his family’s seat in the House of Lords. His future was very bleak for someone whose ambition lay somewhere out on the water, but he was not given a choice in the matter. He carefully gathered up all of his drawings and packed them neatly into a small chest which he hid beneath his bed. He resolved not to think of the chest again, more or less forcing his thoughts in other directions for the rest of the day. When he woke the next morning and checked for the chest it had vanished and Eames could only assume that his tutor had told his father of his foolishness and the chest of beloved sketches had been found and destroyed as evidence. When no one said a word of his artistry though, he thought it better to keep silent himself and not ask after the chest’s whereabouts for fear of reprisal. That same morning the chambermaid’s son was gone as well, apprenticed to the blacksmith Eames was able to glean from the servants’ gossip. Eames never saw him again.

…

Eames looked out over the bow of the Paisley Princess, the sea spray stinging against his wind-burnt cheeks. He didn’t move away though. He was all too aware that the captain and crew viewed him as a liability and a nuisance. The Princess was a navy ship and her captain didn’t seem to care too much for being delegated to chauffeuring politician’s sons over the seas. Eames didn’t care at all that the captain resented him though. He wasn’t likely to be thrown overboard given his standing and he was content to play the naïve, landlubber, lord to the captain’s worldly seaman. After a few days, he had even managed to charm the captain into telling him a few stories of his time on the water, playing to the man’s ego. Eames could be quite shameless when it came to gaining knowledge of the ocean – that vast blue gem at which he could look but never touch.  
The captain had informed him at dawn that they would be nearing their destination within the next week and as Eames leaned over the bow, letting the wind tousle his hair, he resolved to truly experience as much of life on the water as he could in the time frame. He would not have another chance for years. He was taken by surprise by the lookout’s call from the crow’s nest. The ship, which Eames could only guess that it was by the lookout’s frantic shouts, was hardly more than a black speck on the distant horizon to Eames’s naked eye. But it gained on them fast and Eames was roughly forced into the captain’s quarters for safekeeping. He wasn’t told what was happening, but his heart thumped with adrenaline and simmering excitement at the possibility… _pirates_.

He could hear the commotion outside the door, felt the ship rock violently when it was hit with cannon fire. He began to worry then. He was trained with a foil and a pistol, but he had never been in actual combat before. In all of his dreams and imaginings of pirates, he had never truly thought he’d see one. And besides, he had no foil or pistol on him and there were none to be found in the captain’s room. When the door burst open, hanging loosely on its hinges, Eames could only stare dumbly at the filthy, toothless man grinning at him from the doorway. Eames cringed as the man stepped forward, leering at him, greasy hair hanging in strings over his dirt-streaked face. “Cap’n’s gonna be real happy-like at me fer findin you.”

The pirate grabbed for Eames’s arm with gnarled fingers and Eames, who had never been in an actual fight of any kind, reacted instinctively by punching the man in the face.

“By bose! Ya bi’l bitch!” The pirate grasped his face, blood seeping between his fingers. His eyes took on a wild look, and Eames began to regret his instincts. But, before the pirate could get retribution, another shouldered past him into the room and promptly began to laugh.

This pirate was younger than the first, and cleaner, and when he smiled his eyes sparkled with true mirth. “Bertram! What’s happened to you?”

“Bi’l bucker bunched me in the bose, be did! I’ma kill bim! Skin bim! Wear bim as a hat!”

“Yes, yes,” said the second pirate, patting the first on the arm consolingly. “But we’ll get no ransom for him if he’s clothing and then cap’n will skin you. I could use your scrotum to make a nice toy for my cat!”

The first pirate glared at the second and Eames felt almost forgotten and thought about trying to escape, though he wasn’t certain to where.

“Ah, ah, none of that,” said the second pirate, noting Eames’s quick shuffle toward the porthole. “You’ll be coming with us. Captain’s orders. A few introductions first, I’m Yusuf, and this fellow that you’ve already met is Bertram. If you’ll kindly come this way, we’ll be taking your prisoner now.”

Eames stared blankly at the pirates.

“Come on then, haven’t got all day,” said Yusuf, furrowing his brows. “Do you think he’s slow?” He asked of Bertram, who shrugged, stilling holding his nose.

“I’m not slow,” said Eames, insulted. “I’ve just never been taken prisoner by pirates before. You seem awfully polite to be a rapist and a murderer.”

“Oh, yes quite. Thank you. Now, if you’d come with us nicely, there will be no need to tie you up.” Yusuf beamed at him and Eames made a final, mad lunge for the porthole.

“Oh dear,” said Yusuf.

“Boh beer,” said Bertram. 

“I’m stuck,” said Eames.  
…

“What do you do with the crewmen who refuse to join you,” asked Eames of Yusuf as he was dragged out onto the deck. His hands and feet had been tightly tied together, but so far they had not felt the need to gag him.

“Throw them into the sea for the sharks.”

Eames swallowed audibly. “Then I – “ his voice cracked. “Ahem. Then I demand to be thrown into the ocean as well! You’ll never take me alive!” He felt he was being rather noble. Yusuf only gave him a dubious look and pulled a kerchief from his pocket. Obviously Eames had squandered his last bit of freedom.

They forced him to kneel on the deck and watch as the crew of the Paisley Princess were lined up and made ready to cross the gangplanks to the pirates’ ship. He was also made to watch as the Princess’s captain and first mate were tossed into the frothing waters below. He looked away, ashamed, and his gaze was drawn to a slim figure scaling the rigging with ease, like the monkeys that had annoyed Eames to no end in India. He wondered how a boy like that had gotten mixed up with a band of scum as low as this. Probably much the same way he had, Eames decided. This boy was far too pretty to be a pirate. He must have been of a nobler species like Eames once, before he was obviously captured and his baser instincts encouraged. Eames decided right then and there that he would make it his mission to see this boy back to society safely. Since it seemed he had little choice but to go with the pirates, Eames would need some goal to keep his mind and heart strong and free from corruption.

The boy hit the deck of the ship with soft feet and a grace that left Eames a bit breathless, sauntering towards the newly turned over sailors and Eames, still bound and gagged and on his knees. The boy had a small smirk twisting his lips and his eyes were alight with a mischievous fire. He knelt in front of Eames and pressed his fingers to Eames's lips over the gag.

"Hello, Mr. Eames," the boy practically purred. "I'd like to personally welcome you to my crew. I'm Captain Arthur Landry, but you may better know me as Captain Brown Eyes."

Eames's eyes widened. Captain Brown Eyes was the most feared pirate on the seven seas! Eames could hardly reconcile his idea of the murdering, thieving, evil pirate with the beautiful boy before him.

Arthur smiled and dimples creased his cheeks, further distancing himself from Eames's idea of Captain Brown Eyes. Arthur gestured to some of his men before he settled in to brief the sailors that had chosen to join his crew on their new duties.

"Take him to my quarters," Arthur said, the fire still glinting like molten gold in his gaze. "I intend to initiate _him_ privately."


	2. Tortuga

Eames stood at the bow of the ship that Arthur had named The Paradox. He could appreciate the title after having spent several weeks already on board. He still could hardly wrap his mind around the idea that Captain Brown Eyes and Arthur Landry were in fact the same person. Arthur was charming and guileless and handsome. Eames cursed his traitorous heart every time a flash of Arthur’s dimples set it aflutter. He had no intention of being swept off his feet by a man who was feared across the globe. Eames found he was having to remind himself more and more often that he was a gentleman and Arthur was a scoundrel and not at all suitable for falling in love with. 

The sea was every bit as beautiful as he had imagined as a precocious child. The stars sparkled on the water like diamonds in the dark rock of a coal mine. He felt oddly at peace despite his place, despite being kidnapped and held hostage by a nightmare with a smile that could melt the hearts of old maids. But Eames had seen hints of the terror that was Brown Eyes, of the man who had inspired the tales that Eames knew, of the cruel unfeeling pirate captain who could not be crossed. No one that refused or tried to fight Brown Eyes lived to tell the tale. Only those who had escaped him by the sheer grace of Poseidon had the words to tell of the horrors of Captain Brown Eyes. Arthur was stern with his crew, but good to those who obeyed him. Eames did not care to see Arthur’s reaction to disobedience. Thankfully none of the crew dared cross their captain.

Eames sighed and once again tried to sort his thoughts. Arthur had not told him of a ransom but that did not mean there was not one. Eames hardly dared think Arthur would have ambushed his ship and kept him against his will just for the pleasure of his company. He was not homesick except, perhaps, for India’s heat. He did not miss the monkeys in the least. He did not miss his father either, or the responsibilities that would be placed upon his head once he set foot in England. This ship was not exactly where he belonged either, Brown Eyes’ crew made that very clear with their barely concealed whispers and dark looks and open leers, but it felt closer to home than really anything he had known before. 

In the distance the clouds swirled and coalesced and seemed to take on the shape of a ship, listing lazily in the water, silhouetted against the moon.

“The Lost Dreamer.”

Eames startled as Arthur sidled up to him, silent despite the weight of his boots and the age of the ship’s wood. 

“Must you do that?” Eames muttered, trying to compose himself beneath Arthur’s pleased smile.

“I believe a threat is more frightening when you do not know it is coming,” Arthur replied, grinning, dimples on display and doing terrible things to Eames’s heart.

“Yes, quite,” Eames grumbled, trying to shift ever so subtly away from the mad pirate.

“The Lost Dreamer,” Arthur said again, ignoring Eames’s bid for space and privacy. “Do you know the story?”

“Of course I do. Everyone does. But it’s silly. Dwelling on tales is a waste of time.”

Arthur looked disappointed for a fleeting moment, but it was masked with a soft smile almost immediately. 

“It’s not just a tale, Mr. Eames. The Lost Dreamer is real.”

Eames felt a sense of déjà vu at Arthur’s words but he couldn’t place the reason. They rang familiar in his ears and reminded him of his childhood, of hidden dreams and secret fantasies. 

“Yes,” Eames drawled. “I have already been forced to accept that a _boy_ has His Majesty’s entire navy terrified to sail, why should I fight the idea of a phantom captain and his ghost ship?”

Arthur looked less than amused, his lovely lips pressed together in a thin line. But the sparkle in his eyes was still there, like he knew a secret Eames would never know. 

“We’ll be docking soon. Tortuga. We need supplies and the men need a break. And I have some goodbyes I need to make.”

“Goodbyes?” Eames narrowed his eyes, his fingers tightening imperceptibly where they were curled around the ship’s wood. 

Arthur’s lips twitched at one corner, one tempting dimple flashing into existence for an unbearable moment. “You said you know Captain Cobb’s tale, Mr. Eames? Do you know how he mans his ship?”

“He kidnaps proper sailors, lures them away from their ships and their duties with promises of immortality and endless treasures and then he slowly sucks the life from them in order to keep himself afloat.”

“Sometimes,” Arthur said, nodding. “Sometimes he saves them from something much worse. I had already been kidnapped once. I was apprenticed to a blacksmith, just eleven, when the navy took me and forced me to serve. They do that, did you know? Steal boys that are living on the fringes of society to fill their crews, boys that no one will miss. No one missed me. I was illegitimate, the son of a maid working in a wealthy man’s house. That man wasn’t my father, don’t worry,” Arthur chuckled at Eames's sudden concerned look.

“The blacksmith was my father but he had a family of his own. He had a little girl that he intended should have a place in society. His only concession to the son he hadn’t raised was to teach me how to mold metal. I disappeared one dark night and I imagine no one bat an eye in the morning. I served for a year before my ship encountered The Lost Dreamer. There was really no contest when Captain Cobb asked me if I would join his crew. I’d been beaten and bruised but I hadn’t been broken and I would rather have been part of a legend than die a hollow shell of myself.”

“Really Captain, your lack of faith in my intelligence is insulting. You’re here now, Arthur. Cobb doesn’t let anyone leave.”

Arthur smiled and it was so brilliant, Eames felt himself blushing. He looked so very young when he smiled, so very happy. Eames could barely imagine the Hell he had been through in his short life.

“I thought you knew the story, Mr. Eames. There is more to it than just the middle. Something had to happen for Captain Cobb to be cursed as he is.”

Eames sighed. “I would appreciate it if you would not condescend to me, Captain. Dom Cobb was a sailor whose ship was wrecked during a terrible storm, but he was saved. One of Titan’s daughters saw him being tossed about in the waves and she fell in love. They married but his first love was the sea and it called to him every day. Eventually the pull was too strong and Cobb returned to it, but his wife cursed him that he would never be able to set foot on solid land again if he left her. That is the story.”

Arthur smirked. “A very simplified version of the story. What happened to your imagination, Mr. Eames?”

Eames’s heart skipped a beat as he watched the sun bounce off of the water and play over Arthur’s features. He thought of the back of his father’s hand, the sharp cut of bejeweled rings against his cheek, and the quick whap of his tutor’s stick. 

“Perhaps I was simply born without one,” he said softly.

“Now I don’t believe that at all,” Arthur whispered. “Captain Cobb was cursed to remain forever at sea, but he realized that it wasn’t the sea that he loved but a lady born of it. He had made a terrible mistake but it was too late. Now he must sail aimlessly, searching desperately for his love, never to find her, alone, lonely, haunted.”

“That doesn’t explain how you were able to get off of his ship… if you were ever truly on it. I am still not a believer, of course.”

Arthur reached out and wrapped his fingers over the edge of the ship next to where Eames’s hand was resting. He looked out over the water at the smoky, ghost ship, a faraway look in his eyes, something sad but also wistful.

“Cobb has a condition. A way for the sailors he takes to gain their freedom. It’s all about love, you see. He can see into the dreams of anyone who sets food aboard his ship and he can see if they’ve found true love.”

“And if they have?”

Arthur’s eyes closed and he tilted his head back to feel the sea spray against his skin. “Then he lets them go. He gives them ten years to find the one they love and declare it and if it is requited, they’re free forever. He doesn’t want any man to suffer the fate that he has. Ten years,” he whispered, so quiet Eames barely heard the words over the lapping of the water against the ship. He looked at Eames suddenly and smiled, but there were no dimples and no warmth. Eames’s heart sank with sudden understanding.

“How old are you, Arthur?”

“Two and twenty. He is coming for me.”

…

It was nearly a relief to dock in Tortuga. Eames was desperate to feel solid, unmoving ground beneath his feet after weeks aboard the constantly rocking ship, but as he was eagerly eyeing the approaching shore, Arthur dashed his hopes. Truly, Eames had lost count of how long he'd been in the company of Captain Arthur Landry and his crew. A good sailor could tell the passage of time by the phases of the moon, but Eames was no sailor. He was the son of a rich man, nobility, and to him the moon was just a lovely light in the sky to be gazed at when one was feeling wistful and romantic.

He didn't know how long he'd been the captive of Captain Brown Eyes, but it was long enough that he'd believed Arthur was beginning to trust him. He'd been given his own chores to do and even made a friend. That is to say, there was someone on the ship other than Arthur who didn't sneer at him and think of him as the captain's whore. Yusuf was the only member of the crew who didn't seem to resent Eames's presence and the only one willing to speak to him. Therefore, he was the only member of the crew who knew that, despite the fact that Eames shared Arthur's cabin every night, the captain never touched him.

Every night Arthur spoke to him in a soft voice completely unlike the one he used to command his crew and engaged him in surprisingly enlightened conversation and looked at him with loose and easy smiles that could hardly belong to the fearsome captain he was supposed to be. But, despite the insinuations he had made upon their first meeting, Arthur never laid a hand on him and Eames was hesitant to inquire as to why not. He told himself it was because he did not want to provoke Arthur into acting, but there was a small voice of doubt in the back of his mind that said he was afraid to hear that Arthur did not want him at all.

Eames did not allow himself to become consumed with thoughts of the competent captain, instead using his ample time to plan his escape at the next port. Until Arthur put an end to that. Arthur's behavior had lulled him into a sense of complacency and so he was quite shocked to awaken the morning they were to drop anchor with his wrists bound tightly to the posts of Arthur's bed.

"You didn't think I was going to let you off the ship, did you?" Arthur asked lightly when he saw Eames's eyes flutter open and then glance around in confusion. His mouth was quirked up on one side, one lovely dimple on display. He looked as boyishly innocent as the very first time Eames saw him and believed him to be a fellow victim of the pirates, not their leader.

"You cannot honestly mean to leave me here? Like this?" Eames pulled at his bonds but they didn't loosen and Arthur's smile only deepened.

He had been sitting cross-legged on the bed beside Eames, but now he leaned in so that Eames could smell the salt on his skin, setting his heart uncomfortably aflutter.

"You are a very smart man, Mr. Eames. I know you've been planning to escape at the first chance. I think you'd find Tortuga not the ideal place to attempt that, but I'd rather not have to worry about you at all."

"You worry about me?"

Arthur even laughed then, infamous brown eyes twinkling with amusement. He stroked a finger over Eames's cheekbone then lightly patted his cheek, bounding from the bed in one impossibly graceful motion.

"I will see you on the morrow, Mr. Eames. Do be good for me."

It was with great strength of will that Eames was able to bite back the promise of 'anything for you' that threatened to slip past his lips in a pained whisper as Arthur left the room.

It was fortuitous that Yusuf chose to look in on him before disembarking for the shores of Tortuga himself. As far as Eames was concerned, Yusuf was a fine example of a human being, a shining specimen. He told Yusuf so while tugging desperately at his bonds. Yusuf watched him uneasily from the doorway to Arthur's cabin, but Eames was not above begging quite pathetically.

“The captain will have me flayed for this,” Yusuf groaned, methodically untying the rope from around Eames’s wrists. “I’m really very attached to my skin. I think it looks nice just where it is. You must promise to stay hidden and we must be back before the captain.”

“Of course,” Eames promised. “I always keep my oaths. I am an honorable man.”

“Oh,” Yusuf looked on sadly. “We haven’t broken you of that yet?”

…

 

Eames hitched the borrowed cloak over his shoulders so that the hood draped into his face. Every jostle against another person threatened to pull it down and Yusuf had been quite adamant that Eames keep his ‘pretty’ features hidden. Tortuga was busier than any port Eames had seen, bustling with pirates as far as the eye could see and it thrilled Eames a bit to be so entrenched in something he’d been warned against his entire life. Not that he was naïve enough to believe that all of these men and women were as fine as Arthur. They were dirty and vulgar and some of them certainly lived up to the rumors, but Eames couldn’t base his opinions of every pirate he encountered on stories any longer. The worst rumors that existed were told about Captain Brown Eyes and Arthur was not dirty nor vulgar at all.

He spotted Arthur in the thrall of people, a shining beacon of beauty amongst the unwashed masses. He had his arm around the shoulders of a young girl who was smiling up at him with absolute joy. Eames felt his heart sink. Arthur was speaking to another pirate, the look on his face not exactly a pleasant one, but when he looked back at the girl he beamed. It was no wonder Arthur never touched him then. Eames began to think it might be time to attempt escape after all, honor be damned.

“Is that Arthur’s wench, then?” He asked Yusuf, melancholy clear in his voice. Yusuf looked to where Arthur and the girl were laughing together and softened noticeably.

“Ariadne? Oh, no. Ariadne is nobody’s wench,” Yusuf said, gone a bit moony in the face, his voice absolutely dripping with admiration.

Eames’s heart lightened only slightly. “Who is she?”

“Ariadne is the captain’s sister. She is a fine woman. Should be decked in pearls and silk, she should. Not stuck here on Tortuga.”

Eames watched Yusuf with surprise. "So it is a family trait, this ability to bewitch good men,” he muttered but Yusuf could hardly spare any attention for him anymore.

Eames became likewise distracted watching Arthur, so neither of them noticed the drunkard stumbling up to them until he’d already smashed into Eames’s shoulder, knocking the hood away from his face.

“Well, lookit at that. Ain’t you a pretty one?” The drunk breathed into Eames’s air, smelling of stale rum and ale and any manner of other unpleasant things.

“That’s the missing governor’s son,” another of them hissed, his greasy locks falling into his face but not obscuring the shrew –like appearance of his eyes.

“Oh dear,” Eames murmured before the shrewish one lunged for him.

“There’s a high bounty on this one’s head,” the shrew shouted, trying to get a grip on Eames even as Eames desperately tried to squirm away. There was quite a lot of shouting and clanging after that, but Eames’s only thought was to struggle through the crowd until he reached the shore and then he supposed he’d have to come up with something else.

That was until he heard Arthur’s voice, clear as a bell, above the din. “Unhand that bounty, Nash. He’s mine.”

“May have been yours, Brown Eyes, but it’s me’s got my hands on him now.”

“You'll have your hands on nothing if I cut them off,” Arthur threatened and when Eames chanced a look at him, he could see that Arthur meant it. His brows were furrowed and his mouth was set in a hard line. This was the Brown Eyes that everyone feared.

Arthur brandished his sword and Nash let go of Eames to pull his own and once their blades clashed, the din resumed. Eames was spellbound by the way Arthur moved, parrying every blow thrust at him. He all but danced through the crowd of on-coming weapons and emerged with not a scratch and a smile on his face, a sea of injured falling behind him.

“Next time it will be chains, Mr. Eames,” Arthur said, breathing only slightly heavier than normal, “and I will swallow the key.”


	3. Stowaway

The bed dipped as Arthur settled beside Eames, looking more tired than Eames had ever seen him. His shoulders were hunched and his face was slack, none of the sparkle that was usually in his eyes. Eames wanted to reach out and touch him, smooth a hand over the knobs of Arthur’s spine, curl around him and just hold him through the night. He was frustrated with himself for his desires. Arthur was a killer, a thief, a _pirate_ and had shown no interest in Eames at any point since he’d been kidnapped. Eames should hate him, but instead all he wanted was to wipe the exhaustion from his face.

“That was a very foolish thing you did, Mr. Eames,” Arthur said without any real judgment, a resigned smile quirking up the corner of his mouth.

“Well it was hardly fair to leave me here while you lot went off and had a time,” Eames pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the pillows. “I didn’t get kidnapped by pirates just so I could miss out on all of the fun.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize getting kidnapped was all part of your master plan. And here I fell into it like a pawn! Wait until the world learns that the great and fearsome Captain Brown Eyes has been conned by a coddled child of society! I’ll never live it down!” 

“Oh I hate you,” Eames muttered as Arthur erupted into a fit of laughter and buried his face in Eames’s hip. But when Arthur wasn’t looking, he allowed himself a tiny smile because it was a nice feeling to have made Arthur laugh. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Eames,” Arthur finally said, panting a little as his laughter died away and he pushed himself up. “Leaving you here seemed like the neatest way to do things at the time. I believe that may be the last time I will ever get to see my sister and I didn’t want any distractions.”

“I didn’t know,” Eames said slumping. “I apologize.”

Arthur’s mouth crooked up in a rueful smile and after a moment he produced a book from behind his back, the cover well-worn and faded but Eames could just barely make out  
“The Odyssey” in sun bleached letters.

“Read to me?”

Eames’s eyes widened in surprise as he gingerly took the book from Arthur, their fingers barely brushing. Arthur seemed so brilliant, the thought of his education had never crossed Eames’s mind. Arthur noticed his reaction and blushed slightly though his jaw remained firm and he didn’t look away, unashamed. 

“I can read a little. The man my mother worked for had a son and I used to spy on his lessons, but I was very young when the Navy took me.”

Eames thought briefly of a dark-haired little boy slipping out of the shadows after his own lessons, but it wasn’t a very solid memory and was out of his head before he could grasp it fully. He turned his attention to the book and to the way Arthur was resting against him and began to read.

…

Odysseus had barely left Ilium when there arose a commotion outside the cabin, Arthur springing up immediately ready though he had been obviously dozing just an instant before. Eames trailed off on the last word he had spoken, his mouth still awkwardly open as he watched Arthur grab for his discarded belt lying on top of his desk and wrap it around his waist, otherwise clothed in only a pair of soft brown woolen pants. Eames swallowed hard and had to avert his eyes from the way the muscles of Arthur’s strong legs clearly showed beneath the cloth as he lunged for the door, simultaneously pulling a rapier from the belt. 

“Stay there,” Arthur growled, suddenly turning and gesturing at Eames with the point of the sword.

“Well, I have no idea what –“

“Do not test me, Mr. Eames. I do not carry this blade as a pretense.” With that, Arthur swished the blade through the air in a figure eight so quickly that the metal began to reverberate and Eames sighed in frustration, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the pillows petulantly. He did not see the point of being kept a captive on a pirate ship if he was to be kept out of any event that even smelled of adventure. 

Of course the second that Arthur slipped through the door to his cabin, Eames was up and pulling it open so that he could at least see out onto the deck. If the ship was being attacked, if his rescuers had finally come, he had a right to know. He didn’t really think that Arthur would hurt him for his disobedience. He quite hoped he wouldn’t, at least. But he was able to see upon first look that another ship had not sidled up to them in the dark night with a horde of enemies ready to swarm the deck. No, in fact, the crew seemed to be wrapped up in a bustle of confusion more than fear over a little girl. The girl from Tortuga exactly, if Eames’s eyesight didn’t fail him – Arthur’s sister. That would quite explain why everyone was standing around with their weapons out but not raised, looking at one another with apprehensive faces and shrugging their shoulders as she shouted and brandished a dagger at each of them in turn. Only Yusuf, it seemed, had been foolish enough to approach her and he was now watching her completely besotted like a drunkard, clutching his bicep where the white sleeve of his shirt was beginning to be stained red. 

“Ariadne?” Arthur stopped short just a few steps from her, the moonlight glinting off the muscles in his back. 

“Found 'er stow'd away in the hold, Cap’n,” Bertram said smugly, his nose fully healed if a little crooked. 

“Arthur!” Ariadne cried, throwing herself into her brother’s arms, forcing him to drop his sword or impale her. He wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders and held her, looking equal parts bewildered and annoyed. The furrow to his brow was actually quite lovely to Eames, though he was loathe to admit such a thing out loud. 

“Ariadne, what are you _doing_ here?” Arthur demanded sternly, grabbing his sister by the shoulders and gently forcing her to step back so that he could look at her face. 

Eames was surprised to see a look of fierce determination in her eyes instead of the tears he had expected to be streaming down her cheeks. “I’m not letting you leave me behind again! I want to sail with you, Arthur!”

“This is no life for you,” Arthur tried, plaintive, but Ariadne was having none of it. She cocked her hip and raised a brow, looking eerily like her brother in that moment.  
“Because serving rum to pirates on Tortuga was such a life.”

“I’m taking you back,” Arthur stated and Ariadne pulled away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No you will not, unless you want your ship to be swarmed with men the second you pull into port. Everyone on that island knows about your _cargo_ by now,” she said, looking pointedly at Eames. 

Eames immediately ducked back into Arthur’s cabin so as not to be caught explicitly disobeying Arthur again and so soon. The argument was muffled through the wood of the ship’s walls but Eames was still able to catch some of it.

“I can take you back to Bombay if you’d rather,” Arthur threatened and Ariadne’s eyes grew wide.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ll not have you on this ship. It’s too dangerous.” Arthur’s tone was final. Ariadne’s cheeks grew pale in the moonlight as she seemed to wilt beneath her brother’s stern gaze. 

She glanced once again at the doorway to Arthur’s cabin, where Eames was now peeking around the frame – interest piqued at the mention of the city in which he had grown up, and she set her mouth in a hard line. Then, before anyone could move, she was sprinting across the deck and up the steps to the door, bursting through into the cabin and slamming the door shut behind her. She shoved the locks home, smiling to herself as she produced a little bronze key that Eames had only ever seen hanging from Arthur’s belt. There came a pounding on the door within only a few moments, Arthur making the wood shake with his fist. “Damnit, Ariadne, you let me in! Ariadne!”  
Ariadne stared at the door with amusement before turning her attention to Eames, who was standing at the foot of the bed, feeling rather awkward. 

“Hello,” she said politely, and curtsied.

“Ah, hello.”

Arthur continued to pound on the door, his voice growing noticeably hoarse from his shouting but Ariadne seemed unbothered. She went straight for a chest tucked into a corner of the room which was clearly filled with clothes once she opened it. Completely uncaring of her brother’s ire, she began to dig through the chest. Eames glanced furtively between the girl and the shaking door, wondering whether or not he should open it. He did not want to bear the brunt of Arthur’s anger for enabling his sister, but he did not think incurring the girl’s wrath would be a particularly pleasant experience either, not if she had anything in common with her brother.

“Eames, Eames you let me in. I will chain you to the crow’s nest, Eames, and let the gulls peck out your eyes!”

Eames frowned. “Well, now I don’t want to open the door at all. That’s a terrible way to get people to do what you want of them.”

Ariadne laughed, her back to him, her arms piled with clothes she seemed to deem suitable for whatever she was planning. 

“For the most part, he’s full of hot air,” she said, turning and dumping the clothes on the bed. “He makes all these threats, but he would never hurt someone he genuinely cares about.”

Eames blushed and looked at the floor as the girl began to undress right in front of him. “I highly doubt that your brother cares a thing for me. I’m sure he’s more concerned with receiving the full price of his ransom.”

“Hmm,” the girl mused. “Except there is no ransom.”

Eames looked up in shock, but thankfully the girl was fully changed into trousers and a blouse that must have belonged to a much younger Arthur for them to fit her. She already looked like she belonged on the ship far more than he did. 

“Of course there is!” Eames blustered, feeling all of a sudden very annoyed with this girl. There was no other reason for Arthur to have taken him if not for money. “That weaselly pirate on Tortuga said there was a bounty on my head!”

Ariadne contemplated him for a moment, looking genuinely curious. “The British East India Company has offered a reward for your safe return, but Arthur hasn’t asked for any ransom.” She shrugged. “I thought he must have meant to but then decided that he likes you. But you must know better, of course.”

“How do you know so much?” Eames asked, annoyed with her obvious sarcasm.

Ariadne rolled her eyes at him. “It isn’t very hard to glean gossip from drunkards when you’re the one holding the rum bottle, Mr. Eames. I make it a point to listen to the stories about my brother so that I might at least know he is alive.”

Eames softened at that. He had no siblings and felt very little loyalty to the family he did have, but it was clear in the girl’s face that she loved her brother dearly.

“So you’re the blacksmith’s daughter,” he said quietly, feeling a small pang of jealousy since he couldn’t be certain anyone had ever loved him like that. “How on earth did you end up in _Tortuga_ , then? You hardly look older than sixteen.”

Ariadne began stuffing her dress and petticoats into the chest, not bothering to fold them first. “I am eighteen, thank you. My father arranged a marriage for me with a man in Parliament thirty years my senior two years ago. He was fat and his nose was bulbous and red and he stank of French cheese and I didn’t want to be married to him at all. Arthur intercepted the ship that was to take me to London and took me to Tortuga instead. He left me with Margarita, who owns the tavern you were in, and that was that. He came back when he could and brought me silks and jewels and taught me how to use a sword and fire a musket and last night, I decided, was the last time he was going to leave me behind.”

“So, you didn’t sneak aboard because of his curse?”

Ariadne looked at him sharply, assessing him. “What curse?”

“Captain Cobb’s curse,” Eames’s persisted, suddenly feeling like he’d made a very big mistake. He had assumed that Arthur would have told his sister the truth, but it seemed that perhaps Eames had taken the chance to do it away from Arthur with his appearance in the tavern.

Ariadne opened her mouth to question him again but at that moment there was a shuffling and then a loud crash from the other side of the room and they both jumped with surprise. Arthur was crouched on top of his desk, a spyglass and several quills and maps having fallen to the floor, the porthole that Eames had so unceremoniously become stuck in wedged open behind him. Of course graceful, lovely Arthur had been able to slip easily through. 

“You,” he said, pointing at Ariadne as he hopped down from the desktop, “are making me regret ever helping you. I have every mind to drop you at the nearest port and let you fend for yourself.” 

“But you won’t, because I am your dearest sister who has only ever loved you truly and wouldn’t you feel very badly if something were to happen to me?”

Spots of color blossomed on Arthur’s cheeks and his brow furrowed further in frustration. Ariadne haughtily turned up her nose at him, clearly aware she had won based on the abortive growl coming from Arthur’s throat. He turned his gaze on Eames, eyes flashing angrily.

“Why didn’t you let me in?”

“Well, you threatened me. It was rude.”

“Yes, Arthur, honestly. How do you expect to make friends when you say things like that?” Ariadne seemed to enjoy taunting her brother, something Eames found to be very brave, familial bond or not. Beautiful and graceful and intelligent Arthur may have been, but he was still Captain Brown Eyes.

Arthur finally seemed to take in Ariadne’s new clothes when he looked back at her, eyes going round and practically murderous when he turned them back on Eames.

“You watched her undress?!”

“Oh, oh no. No I did not,” Eames stammered, palms up as if he could hope to placate the Captain. He took a few, small steps backward until there was nowhere for him to go. 

Arthur’s shoulders slumped just a fraction and, though he still looked furious, he seemed hurt suddenly, searching for something in Eames’s demeanor. 

“He really didn’t, Arthur. Kept his eyes on the floor the entire time like a proper gentleman.” Eames decided that, perhaps, he didn’t dislike Ariadne, especially as Arthur’s stance started to soften. Eames wasn’t sure if Arthur had found whatever he seemed to be searching for, staring so intently, but he no longer looked quite as angry. In fact, he may have looked almost relieved.

"Very well." Arthur looked at Ariadne, a sly smile sneaking across his face. “I am quite tired,” he said with no hint of guile before lunging forward and throwing Ariadne over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a coil of rope, which perhaps she didn’t.

“Arthur! Arthur, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” Ariadne shrieked, beating her brother on the back with her tiny fists to no avail. 

Arthur shared a dubious smile with Eames, pleased with himself. “I am quite tired and I have no desire to deal with devious little stowaways on my ship this night. I will decide on which island to maroon you in the morning when my head is clear. For now, it’s the hold for you.”

“You cannot leave me in the hold over night! Arthur! Arthur, I’m your sister! _Arthur_!”

But he was already unlocking and leaving through the cabin door, Ariadne flailing wildly against him but at no risk of getting free. 

"You will continue reading when I return?" Arthur asked of Eames just before he fully slipped through the door. Eames nodded, dumbfounded, but it was apparently the response that Arthur wanted because he smiled beatifically before starting his trek into the bowels of The Paradox, Ariadne screaming bloody murder the entire way.


	4. Bermuda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is not abandoned and will not be abandoned. I swear it.

“You! S’all your fault,” Yusuf slurred at Eames, pointing with a half empty bottle of something amber for emphasis. “You with your face and your pouty lips. I should have left you tied up. Then I would still be first mate and the captain would not be angry with me and I would not be locked in the hold like some kind of common swine.” Yusuf gingerly placed the bottle between his legs and curled over it protectively.

“But then _I_ would still be on Tortuga,” Ariadne argued petulantly. She thrust her hands through the rusted iron bars separating them and tried to reach for Yusuf’s bottle. He handed it over dutifully enough but she hiccoughed violently before she could wrap her fingers around the glass and it fell, Yusuf only just managing to save it before it could spill.

“You would be safe, my lady,” Yusuf lamented. “I would give my life to see you soundly ashore and hale.”

“I don’t _want_ to be ashore,” Ariadne huffed, pushing a soggy lock of hair out of her face. “I want to be a pirate.” She collapsed in a heap against the bars, resting her head in the same spot where Yusuf’s shoulder pressed against the iron from the other side.

Eames grimaced. He had waited until Arthur was asleep before lifting his ring of keys and sneaking out of the cabin, looking over his shoulder with paranoia at every step. Arthur was normally a light sleeper, waking at even the slightest change in the current, but of late his sleep had grown heavier and Eames was easily able to slip from their shared bed and out onto the deck. The rest of the crew was of no worry to him - the ones on watch were half asleep at their posts and didn’t see him slipping through the shadows. He had hesitated at the hatch to the hold to look out over the water at the smoky shape on the horizon. Arthur swore it was The Lost Dreamer and in the light of the moon it looked as if it was getting closer. 

The plan Eames had formulated in his head had not allowed for him finding Ariadne and Yusuf drunk off their arses when he arrived to free them. Eames stood at the crude cages, key ring hanging from his fingertips, and stared at the pair. Their eyelids were already drooping though Yusuf’s sleepy glare was still surprisingly accusatory. Eames really hadn’t thought Arthur would toss Yusuf in the hold as well, but then, Ariadne was Arthur’s own sister. Arthur Landry was clearly not a man who could be predicted.

“I’ve come to let you out,” Eames finally said, shaking the keys. Yusuf looked up but remained hunched over his liquor.

“Come to get me in more trouble, you mean,” he grunted before taking another swig.

“You can let me out,” Ariadne said as she ungracefully scrambled to her feet, grasping at the bars for support to stay standing when the boat swayed suddenly. Watching her, Eames realized _he_ had not stumbled at all. It gave him a secret sort of pleasure that he wished he could share with Arthur, but he thought of Arthur’s pale face looking so sunken in sleep and steeled his resolve. 

Eames unlocked the door to Ariadne’s cell and gripped her elbow to help her stay upright as her own feet threatened to trip her with every step. Yusuf’s lips pursed at that and he struggled to sit straight, grumbling to himself and refusing to set the bottle down though it would have helped in his endeavors greatly. Eames sighed and swung the door to Yusuf’s cell open, cringing when it groaned stubbornly. 

“That is enough of that, I think,” Eames quipped as he reached down and plucked the bottle from Yusuf’s hands.

“You lout! Give that back. It is my only source of happiness.” Yusuf gave up on his valiant efforts to right himself and sprawled on his back amongst boxes and barrels and mildew. Ariadne let out a soft squeak of indignation, and Eames didn’t have to look at her to know she was not pleased.

“I need your help, Yusuf, and I need you to have a clear head… or,” Eames said, side eyeing the dregs of the bottle, “a clearer head, at least.”

“Mister Eames,” Ariadne interjected, voice suddenly sounding clear as a bell. “Could this be about the curse you mentioned earlier?”

Eames looked away from Yusuf to the girl, who was now standing upright, fingers white knuckled around an iron bar to keep her straight, but her eyes were clear and hard and the moonlight made the pockets beneath them look almost black. 

“You said there was a curse,” she insisted.

“Captain Cobb’s curse, my lady,” Eames said nodding.

“There is no such thing,” Yusuf cried out, but his voice was hesitant and then, “Don’t frighten her, Eames. Arthur is her only family.”

“I’m not so easily frightened,” Ariadne insisted. “Don’t paint me as weak because I am a woman.”

“Oh, I know better than to ever think you are not stronger than myself by tenfold, Ariadne,” Yusuf said softly, sitting up with more grace than he had managed to achieve in the  
last several minutes. “I have said already I would give my life to keep you safe. It was not a lie.”

Ariadne’s eyes widened though her jaw remained set and she looked Eames dead on, tilting her chin up as if that would make her seem larger. “If something is wrong with my brother, I _will_ know.”

Eames hesitated to speak for several long moments, drawing shallow breaths in and out of his lungs. Finally he said, “Arthur is dying, but I think I know a way to save him.”

…

“There is no way to break Captain Cobb’s curse, Eames. Don’t be foolish!” Yusuf insisted the next night, after Arthur had again fallen into an unusually deep sleep and Eames had stolen away once more, this time pilfering several maps and written accounts of strange happenings in one particular area of ocean.

“There _must_ be,” Ariadne argued, chewing her lower lip. 

There was a map rolled out on the floor between them, decorated with beautiful mermaids and fearsome sea monsters. There was an open vast of ocean in one corner of the map, unmarred by islands or markings of any kind, as if entirely unexplored. It was to this area of the map that Eames pointed.

“Here,” he said, tapping the parchment twice with a finger. 

“Oh, there. Well, that makes perfect sense,” Yusuf said, shrugging, his lip curling up with the hint of oncoming hysteria. “ _There_ lies certain death.”

Ariadne leaned close to the map, closing one eye and peering all around the area surrounding Eames’s finger. “What _is_ there?”

“When Cobb left his wife to return to the sea, she hid their island home from his sight so that he could never return, but she couldn’t make the island disappear completely and from the accounts I’ve read of this area, I believe this is where the island must lie.”

“And you want to find the island?” Ariadne sounded surprised but intrigued, which gave Eames hope.

“I believe she’s the answer to breaking Arthur’s curse.”

“The answer to Arthur’s curse is far simpler than that,” Yusuf grumbled. “According to the legend, he must only confess to the one he loves.”

“Perhaps professing one's love is not as easy as that, hmm?” Eames asked with a quiet voice, looking pointedly at Yusuf and then to Ariadne whose head was tilted stubbornly down and away. 

His own heart hung heavy in his chest at the thought of Arthur loving someone else. He hadn’t known Arthur long but time was not on their side. Arthur had never spoken of any great love he was leaving behind. It was entirely possible he had no chance to break his own curse. He had been kidnapped at eleven. It could be he had never had the chance to love someone, but something inside of Eames told him that was not true. 

“If we can break Cobb’s curse then Arthur’s is broken as well.”

“This is lunacy, you realize. We will all die,” Yusuf said plainly. “There is a reason so little is known of this area. It is because those who find themselves there so rarely find their way back out.”

“But we must try!” Ariadne cried, determination coloring her expression. 

“It’s suicide, Ariadne!”

“He is _my brother_!”

“He is your captain, Yusuf,” Eames hedged, hoping he had not misjudged Yusuf’s loyalty. 

Yusuf groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’ve lived a good enough life, I suppose.”

Ariadne immediately brightened. “Alright, Mister Eames, what is your plan?”

…

It was not difficult to convince Arthur to finally allow Ariadne and Yusuf out of the hold. Arthur was obviously soft toward his sister and his resolve seemed to be weakening more with each day. Eames paid close attention to the advent of the shadowy ship and Arthur’s behavior in relation to it. Arthur seemed too tired recently to resist Eames’s suggestions too hard and he spent most of his time when he wasn’t sleeping, watching the horizon. It was too easy then, for Yusuf to slowly alter their course little by little until they were headed directly for the unknown patch of ocean. 

The skies grew darker and the water rougher and when Eames thought Arthur might begin to care that their direction had changed, he drew Arthur into the cabin and read to him until he was distracted and once Arthur was asleep, Eames would dare to run his fingers through Arthur’s heavy curls and wish there really was a simpler way to save him.  
Eames knew they were nearing their destination when the rest of the crew began to grumble audibly. They were restless and wary and completely expendable as far as Eames was concerned. Particularly Bertram. The crew could mutiny now but it would do them no good. Eames would reach the island if it killed him.

He could not keep Arthur so easily distracted forever though and despite his worsening condition, Arthur heard the complaints of his crew and grew agitated. He came out of his stupor just long enough to take note that they were not in any sort of waters he had ever sailed before. Eames saw Arthur’s eyes clear for an instant and panicked, crowding Arthur into the cabin before he could fully recognize what was happening on his ship. 

“Eames, what…”

Heart in his throat, Eames reacted before Arthur could formulate a full question, lunging forward and kissing Arthur soundly on the mouth. Arthur responded initially and Eames’s heart soared, but then he stiffened and pulled away. Eames would have felt bereft had it not been for the absolutely destroyed look on Arthur’s face.

“Eames,” he whispered, but Eames shook his head. Of course he had wanted to kiss Arthur, but he had always been a good liar.

“Isn’t this what you brought me aboard for, Arthur? To please you?”

Arthur looked stricken. “No, Eames, no. I, no, that’s not what I want.”

That hurt, like a knife plunged deep into his chest, but Eames schooled his face. “Then what do you did you want of me, Arthur? Why did you take my ship and keep me and why have you failed to ask for a ransom?”

Arthur’s face softened, but there was pain still clear in his eyes. He reached a hand up and stroked the pad of his thumb along the swell of Eames’s cheekbone. “I had a plan, Eames, but you were never part of it. I would take the ship and leave my crew with enough loot to keep them going without me. I kept you because I could. It was selfish, I admit. But I thought, perhaps, Yusuf could ransom you off once he was captain. I haven’t allowed myself to think beyond that. I shouldn’t have kept you, but I couldn’t let you go again.” Arthur’s fingers curled around the back of Eames’s head, a solid grip that kept Eames grounded even as his head began to spin.

“Again... What do you mean? Why are you going to this fate so easily?”

“There is a reason why some legends persist so well. Arthur Landry will die but Captain Brown Eyes will live forever.”

“Arthur, this is folly!”

“This is the agreement I made, Eames.”

“You were twelve!”

“I knew the decision I was making. I resigned myself to this a long time ago.”

“And what of everyone who loves you? What of me?” Eames demanded, suddenly angry. Arthur’s mouth fell open in surprise but before he could speak, the ship screamed and shook and they were thrown to the floor.

“What’s happening?”

Shouts rose up from outside the cabin and the door flew open, Ariadne framed in the doorway. “Eames,” she whispered. She was terrified and her eyes were wild and Eames could see a storm raging furiously behind her. Lightning flashed and water pelted them in a stinging attack on their skin.

“What have you done, Eames?” Arthur shouted over the din, torn between going to Ariadne and possibly throttling Eames. 

“I’ve made a decision, Arthur. One that I refuse to regret.”

Arthur pushed his way past his sister and out the door, barreling into the brunt of the storm. Eames followed, heart in his throat, reaching for Arthur blindly when the salt water in the air forced him to squint. Yusuf was at the helm, steering the ship directly into the storm, jaw set in a determined grimace.

"Yusuf, godamn you, what the hell are you doing?" Arthur screamed, hair and clothing plastered to his skin. His voice could barely be heard over the roar of the ocean.

"A man will do utterly idiotic things for love," Yusuf called, not even looking at the deck of the ship where his captain stood.

“Arthur!” Eames shouted, fingers closing around Arthur’s arm as he looked into the heavy black and blue clouds and swore, for one heart stopping second, he saw a face. Blue eyes watched from within the angry sky and Eames forgot to breathe; then the rocky outcroppings of a previously invisible island were ripping into the bowels of the Paradox and the ocean rose up to swallow them whole.


	5. The Isle of Mal

The very last memory Eames had before the sea overwhelmed him and his vision went black, was reaching out, grasping desperately for Arthur, until his fingers closed around the flesh of Arthur’s forearm. He pulled Arthur to him, held him as tightly as he could with the force of the sea trying to rip him away, but he went into the sea with Arthur in his arms.

 

…

 

Eames came awake slowly, head swimming and vision blurry when he finally coaxed his eyes to open. There was a shadowy figure just out of reach, a man watching him sleep.

“Arthur,” he whispered, throat parched and voice cracking. “Arthur?”

He sat up quickly once he had his wits mostly about him, wincing only slightly at the way his bones creaked and his muscles protested.

“I’m sorry,” said the man, “But your Arthur is most likely dead.”

As his vision cleared, the shape sharpened, and though the man was lithe and fair and his hair was dark, he was not Arthur.

“Who are you?” Eames asked, taking in his surroundings with fear coiled like a snake in the pit of his stomach. “And where am I?”

The room around him was the color of the sea sky on a perfect, cloudless day, with floor to ceiling windows and billowing, frothy white curtains. He lay in a bed even softer than his own in Bombay had been, large enough to hold three of him. The strange man sat at the end of it, watching Eames with disinterest. 

“You are on the Isle of Mal,” the stranger said with a shrug.

“I am?” Eames sat up a bit straighter. “I remember a storm.”

“Oh, yes. That was me.”

“ _You_ caused the storm?”

The stranger nodded.

“Well, that was a bit dramatic, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” the stranger pouted. “But it is the only fun I get to have. This island gets so _boring_.”

“And _who_ are you again?”

“I am the Spirit of the Storm, the guardian of this island, I am the voice that calls sailors to their deaths at the bottom of the sea. I am the Tempest. But you may call me Robert.”

That made sense. When Robert looked at Eames straight on, his eyes seemed to be the very same blue as the walls and looked quite like the eyes Eames thought he had seen in the storm clouds before the ship went down.

“Oh, well, Robert. Pleased to meet you and all that. Did you say Arthur was dead?”

Robert began to inspect his nails. “Probably. You were the only one who washed ashore.”

It felt as if his heart had frozen in his chest. After all that he had done to save Arthur, he’d failed, and lost Yusuf and Ariadne - his only friends - in the process. He’d been foolish and headstrong, let his thoughts get lost in the clouds, and now he was alone.

“Well, come on,” Robert said, uncaring of Eames’s internal despairing. “Now that you are awake, you’re expected in the ballroom. Not that you’re late, of course. The ball never ends. It was delightful at first… two hundred years ago.”

Eames slid from the bed carefully, half expecting his legs to give out beneath him, but they held. He found he was already dressed in the finery he had worn before his stint aboard the Paradox. Those clothes had grown ragged and pale over the months he’d spent as a pirate, but these were bright and new again as if he’d gone down with the Paisley Princess as he’d so vehemently demanded all that time ago. 

Robert caught on to his confusion.

“Magic,” he said simply, and threw open the doors to the room.

As they walked the halls and their footsteps echoed off the marble walls, Eames became aware that he was in an overlarge mansion if not a palace. It dwarfed his father’s home in Bombay and that had seemed palatial to a lonely and precocious child. It seemed to take an age to reach the ballroom, but soon the sounds of violins and voices reached them on the air. 

As they approached their destination, Eames was forced to stop a moment to take everything in. There were at least a hundred people occupying every inch of the room, couples spinning across the floor, others positioned in every corner and archway in all styles of dress. There were animals too – parrots and monkeys, cats and dogs, and creatures the likes of which Eames had never seen. There were sea captains and first mates, fine ladies and tavern wenches, the old and young.

“Anyone who survives one of my shipwrecks ends up here,” Robert said from behind him. “And they don’t leave.”

Robert swept him into the room, guiding him across the floor with a hand at his back. At the far end a lady sat, regal in a high backed throne of gold and sapphire. Her hair was a mess of curls to her shoulders, adorned with pearls and a crown of coral, and her dress seemed to be made from the sea foam itself, draped over her body in layers of the palest green silk. She was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman Eames had ever seen. At her feet sat two cherubs with hair the color of sand and eyes as blue as cornflowers – a boy and a girl. They could not have been much more than toddlers, but their eyes watched the room with weathered disinterest. 

“Titan’s daughter,” Eames murmured to himself, voice lost in awe. He had succeeded at his venture after all, even if there was no longer a point. 

No one paid him any mind as Robert guided him along. They stopped before a set of glass doors thrown open wide, the balcony beyond them overlooking the jungle landscape of the island. The greenery reminded Eames of home and sent an unfamiliar pang of longing surging through him. He remembered standing on a balcony such as this in his boyhood home, watching the chambermaid’s son complete his chores in the courtyard below, wishing he could leave his life of propriety behind and join the boy in running barefoot across the uneven stone pathways. 

In his mind the boy stood below the balcony now, looking up at him with a dimpled smirk, and called to him to come down and play.

“Eames!”

Eames curled his fingers around the marble balustrade and tried to hold back the tears that all of a sudden threatened to fall. He had not thought of that boy in so long, had not cried over him when he was young. How silly to be brought to such emotion now. But perhaps it was not his memories that pained him so, but this cursed fate he had wrought upon himself.

He thought he could still see the boy through his watery vision, though it seemed that for some reason the apparition had grown cross with him.

“Eames! Goddamnit! When I get up there, Mister Eames, I swear you shall rue –“

“And what shall he rue, Arthur?” There came another voice, feminine, and familiar.

“The sinking of my ship! For one! And allowing me to believe for even a moment that he had died… for another,” the boy beneath him grumbled, still staring angrily up at the balcony. Eames roughly swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and with cleared vision saw that it was not the boy, in fact, but Arthur. Arthur, alive and hale, though quite dirty and ragged and still a bit wet. Beside him stood Ariadne and Yusuf, and Yusuf’s cat twining around their legs. 

“Arthur?” Eames could scarcely believe it, but even as he attempted to come to grips with what his own eyes were telling him, Arthur had already positioned Yusuf beneath the balcony and was hoisting himself up using the man as a makeshift ladder. Eames was struck again by Arthur’s grace, as struck as he had been that very first time he saw Arthur scale the rigging when he’d been captured. “You’re alive! But how?”

“I am the greatest pirate in the world, Mister Eames. I am not without my tricks.”

“We washed ashore on the other side of the island! We’ve been hiking for nigh on a day and a half!” Yusuf shouted from the ground below. 

“My ship is sunk, Mister Eames! _My ship!_.” The look in Arthur’s eyes was a bit unsettling, almost manic. Eames stepped away from the balustrade as Arthur pulled himself over it to land lightly on his feet. 

“I am sorry about that, Arthur, but look where we are! The Isle of Mal!”

Arthur stopped advancing suddenly, eyes gone wide. He looked past Eames into the ballroom, at the menagerie of mismatched people from different places and times.

“Eames! What have you done?”

Eames was not exactly expecting Arthur to be pleased, but the look of abject horror on Arthur’s face was a bit much. 

“ _This_ was your plan, Eames? To maroon us on a mythical island with no hope of escape?”

Arthur advanced on him, and though self-preservation would have Eames step back, he did not. “If it will keep you with me, then I cannot think it that bad!” 

Arthur stopped, shock draining his face of its wrath. “What?”

“The Lost Dreamer was upon us, Arthur! I could not stand by and watch you sacrifice your life!”

“I have had a good life, Mister Eames!” Arthur protested, his youthful face so very earnest.

“I have _not_!” Eames’s outburst shocked even himself, and he met Arthur’s wide-eyed stare with one of his own, but once the words had left his mouth they would not be stopped. “I have been sheltered, and pampered, and raised to be one of the elite, but I have not been happy… Not until I met you.”

Arthur softened visibly, the fight going out of him like the wind out of a sail. “Eames,” he said softly, absently reaching out a hand toward one of Eames’s own. “I never meant to take you,” Arthur whispered, and though Eames’s heart felt as if it was physically breaking, he smiled and nodded anyway, though he snatched his hand out of Arthur's reach.

“Of course you didn’t, darling, but I would not change it for the world.”

“Eames, no-“ Arthur began, but he was cut off by a sudden crack of thunder.

The ballroom darkened as clouds rapidly filled the sky, and Ariadne and Yusuf pulled themselves over the balcony with lightning at their backs. The guests remained unfazed even as the skies opened up outside, not even a pause in their mindless dancing as if such storms were a regular occurrence. It was not until the goddess stood that a hush fell over them and they stilled. 

“Robert?”

“Oh, that is not me,” Robert said around a mouthful of pastry.

“If it is not you, Robert, then what _is it_?” She demanded, expression fearsome.

Robert sighed and disappeared. When he returned scarce seconds later, his face was ashen. “It is a ship, my lady.”

“So sink it!”

“It is – My lady, it is…”

“Hello, Mal.”

The goddess reared back as if someone had slapped her as the rest of the congregation looked over their shoulders to locate the source of the voice. The crowd parted slowly as a shadowy figure made its way from the entrance across the floor, buckles jangling and a sword slapping against his hip with every step.

“No,” the goddess whispered, eyes wide, but it took only a breath before they were blazing. “No! How can you be here?”

The children at her feet rose as well, disbelieving at first until their mother began to scream.

“Father?” The girl called out, still hesitant, but the boy was already racing from the dais, nearly tripping over his own short legs.

“Papa!” He shrieked and leapt for the shadow, who caught him in his arms and spun him around just as lightning flashed again, illuminating the room. 

“Cobb?” Arthur gasped. “Eames, what did you _do_?”

“ _This_ was my plan, Arthur. If Cobb can come home, then he doesn’t need a crew.”

Eames chanced a glance at Arthur, afraid of what he would see, but with no regrets for what he had done. Arthur’s face was slack with shock, his pretty mouth parted slightly on a gasp.

“How are you here?” Mal asked, voice echoing off the walls so loudly some of the guests bent and covered their ears.

“I’ve come home, Mal. The Curse is broken.” Cobb’s face was weary and worn, but the closer he came to the dais, the lines cutting valleys across his face began to soften and disappear. He was the fearsome legend Eames had always imagined, clad all in black leather, with his hair shaggy and long, and his eyes a stormy blue, but before their very eyes he grew handsome and young again. He held his son against his sword-less hip and smiled in the face of his wife’s fury. “I won’t be leaving this time, Wife.”

When he reached her throne, Captain Cobb grabbed Mal’s hand and pulled her to him until she was forced to step off the dais and into his arms.

“The curse is broken,” he said again and kissed her. The thunder clapped a final time before the skies began to brighten and clear. 

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” Yusuf muttered behind them, then began to laugh. “We actually did it!”

“You – how did you? Eames, you brought him here?”

“I brought _you_ here, and he followed.”

As if he could hear them, Cobb turned his head, stormy eyes landing on Arthur. “You have done me a boon, Arthur Landry.”

“Not me,” Arthur said, fingers wrapping tentatively around Eames’ wrist. “Him.”

Cobb’s eyes narrowed as they shifted to Eames. “So you found him. I should return these to you then.”

Cobb pulled something from the pocket of his coat and tossed it across the room with a flick of his wrist. Arthur caught it easily, though his face had blanched even further, so that it seemed bloodless. His fingers flexed against the object in his grip and when Eames looked closer, he realized it was a small wooden chest. He felt the air leave his lungs in one breath as he reached out, fingertips just brushing against the chest’s lid.

“Arthur… Is that?”

Arthur tightened his grip at first, abortively pulling the chest into his stomach before he let go and let Eames take it from him. Eames traced his finger over the carvings in the wood and flipped the clasp with baited breath. The papers inside were faded and yellowed but the artwork on them was unmistakable. 

“These are mine.”

“I took them- from your room when we were children. That chest was my most beloved possession.”

“You were the boy,” Eames said softly. “But you were _just_ a boy. How could you have known?”

“I couldn’t, not truly. That is why I said I never meant to take you, Eames. I never meant to find you in the first place. I meant to earn my name aboard The Paradox and return to a Cobb a legend, and only that. But when I was faced with you, I could not bear to let you go again. I found myself weaker than I had ever been before.”

“You love me?” Eames wondered aloud, scarcely able to believe it.

Arthur’s responding smile was soft and warm. “Of course I love you, Mister Eames. How could I not?”

Arthur reached for Eames’s wrist again, and pulled him close. With his free hand, Arthur traced the curve of his jaw and over the slope of his cheek until he was cupping the back of Eames’s head. Eames could feel Arthur’s breath soft against his lips and when he whispered his own declaration, it was into Arthur’s mouth.

“This is all very lovely and romantic, but might I remind you we are still marooned on this island as our ship currently lies in pieces at the bottom of the sea?”

They broke apart reluctantly at Yusuf’s interruption, frowning. Eames had not thought the plan through this far.

A throat cleared behind them and they turned to find Cobb still watching them, one eyebrow raised. “ _My_ ship remains in one piece with no one to captain her. You’ve broken my curse and brought me home to my beloved family once more. I believe The Lost Dreamer should be more than enough repayment.”

Captain Cobb smiled at them, a young and beautiful man again, and returned his attention to his wife and children, his centuries long punishment finally over.


	6. Epilogue

Eames lay on his back, still abed, head turned just enough that he could gaze at the sky through the porthole to his right. He smiled to himself, soft and closed-mouthed. The sky was clear ad he could hear the calls of gulls on the air. The ship’s gentle rocking lulled him, making coming fully awake a torturous slow process. He could easily close his eyes and sleep the day away. He sighed happily and arched his back, rolling over to find Arthur still curled against him, skin soft and warm. Eames slid his palm over Arthur’s ribcage, fitting his fingers neatly in the spaces between the bones. Arthur’s breath hitched and stuttered, the first signs that he too was waking. 

It had been a long time reaching this place where Arthur would remain asleep even after the sunrise and Eames felt no hesitance to touch him whenever and wherever he wanted. His fingertips traced a path over Arthur’s flat belly and lower, beneath the sheets, until Arthur gave up his pretense of sleep and smiled, dimples showing.

“Good morning, Captain,” Eames said softly, voice a little raspy. His breath raised gooseflesh across Arthur’s shoulder and the man shivered, possibly from the early chill or possibly from the brush of Eames’s fingers against his upper thigh. 

Arthur groaned and stretched, making himself as long as possible like Yusuf’s cat on the ship’s deck, forever underfoot. Eames thought he might have a chance to take his time, run his hands all along Arthur’s body before the Captain fully awoke, but he had learned very early never to underestimate Arthur Landry. Arthur rolled quickly, pinning Eames to the bed. He made himself comfortable in the cradle of Eames’s hips, and leaned down to kiss him soundly before Eames could make any sort of protest. The feeling of Arthur’s fingertips between his thighs, where he was still wet and open from the night before, had Eames breathless and bending his knees so that Arthur’s touch went deeper.

“The crew will be expecting us on the deck soon,” Arthur said, though he did not stop his stroking.

“Soon, but not this instant,” Eames replied, reaching between them to guide Arthur’s cock to replace his fingers. 

“Where should we set our course for today, my love?” Arthur asked, his voice going hoarse as his hips met the backs of Eames’s thighs.

“To the end of the world, my Captain, and back again,” Eames breathed, grasping Arthur by the back of the neck and pulling his head down so their mouths could meet. “I would go anywhere with you,” he whispered against Arthur’s lips.

They moved slowly together, hips rocking with the rhythm of the waves. They let the sea dictate their pace and barely stopped kissing long enough to breathe. There was no hurry, nothing chasing them from just beyond the horizon. The Lost Dreamer was theirs now and nothing and no one would ever separate them again.

They exited the cabin at their leisure, Arthur’s pants still not completely laced. The sun was still low in the sky, but the last rosy shades of sunrise were disappearing. They took their places at the ship’s helm, the sea wind whipping their clothes as Arthur raised a spyglass to his eye. 

“There is a ship in the distance,” he called to his crew. “What do you say? Shall we catch up?”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Yusuf called from the deck as he helped Ariadne climb up from below, holding her hand far longer than necessary. He was joined by a rousing chorus of voices from the rest of the crew, all ayes and cheers that quickly turned into song. 

Captain Brown Eyes was feared across the seas, but Arthur was a fair captain and his crew loved him well. The Lost Dreamer glistened like onyx beneath the sea spray and her sails flapped like massive ravens in the wind. No doubt the other ship would soon see them coming, but there was no hope to be had for them. They could pray to Posaito himself for aid, The Lost Dreamer could not be escaped.

“Fetch me when the ship has been overrun,” Arthur shouted, looking for all the world like an angel with his tousled curls and dimpled cheeks. “Until then,will you read to me, Mister Eames?”

“Of course,” Eames said, his smile so brilliant his cheeks began to ache.

…

The legend of The Lost Dreamer did not dim when a new hand took her helm, but grew wildly, whispered on the lips of sailors at every port. Captain Cobb was saved, but The Lost Dreamer still sailed on the shadows, the most fearsome pirate that ever lived guiding her path. Ship captains the world around kept one eye always on the horizon, always watching to see if the outline of The Lost Dreamer could be seen riding the waves on every oncoming storm. It was said if she caught up to a ship, her captain would give the crew a choice - sail with him or swim. Though, it wasn’t the stormy-eyed Captain Cobb that would stalk across the ship’s deck, sword slapping his hip, but the sweet-faced Brown Eyes, whom many were convinced had sunk with his ship, called to the bottom of the sea by the god Posaito. But too many said they had seen him, captaining a crew of ghosts.

Men trembled in their boots at just the sound of his name and with good reason. He stepped softly and moved with a fluid grace unexpected of a pirate. He looked to be scarcely out of boyhood, small and quick to smile, but all of that belied his true nature as a man who was as ruthless as he was unforgiving. But there was hope, the legend said, like there had been a glimmer of hope with Captain Cobb. Because Brown Eyes had a lover – a soft-spoken, highborn man who held Captain Brown Eyes’ heart in his hand, and if a sailor could appeal to the Captain’s heart and prove that his own heart belonged to another, then his freedom might be granted. 

As the story passed from lip to lip, one warning never changed. Heed the advice in this tale; Fear Brown Eyes for he has only one weakness, his nerve is as hard as steel and his tongue is as sharp as his sword. But do not ignore the man at his side, for though his speech is as pretty as his face, it is _his_ word that determines a man’s fate. Insult him and Brown Eyes will cut out your heart before your next breath, but please him and you may live a life of adventure most could scarcely dream of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of Brown Eyes! (Obviously he and Eames had lots more adventures and save the whole world like five times and totally find El Dorado, but that is another story.) Thank you all for sticking with me even through that seventh month period where I didn't update at all. I love you all and I love this pairing and that love will never die.


End file.
